A woman scorned
by ladychristina19
Summary: 14 years later, Irene comes back into Sherlock's life, still surrounded by crime and mystery. Sherlock wonders if he can ever trust this woman again and she wonders if she will ever forget his betrayal. Rated T for sexual references and violence. No slash
1. Prologue

_Every man has his fault, and honesty is his._

_~William Shakespeare _

14 years ago

"You're sure about this Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not only was the security officer's lack of confidence insulting, it was practically the same opinion as most of the Senior dorm.

"You could see it yourself if you acknowledged the facts staring you right in the face."

The security officer shrugged and led him across the large grassy campus. The campus itself was beautiful, made of old Roman looking buildings each guarded by large columns. Alas, inside the buildings, it looked as plain as any other college. Dirty and dull. A few Freshman boys followed Sherlock, mostly curious and wondering if Sherlock was in trouble. As they entered the girls dorm, the Freshman followed in eagerly, one making crass jokes about female anatomy. Sherlock glared at them. He could hardly believe he had been their age just 2 short years ago. He'd been nothing like that of course, talking to only a few intellectuals and focusing mostly on his studies.

The security guard started up the stairs of the large building, the small group following behind. When he was about half was up the flight of concrete stairs, the security guard whipped around.

"What do you mean the facts staring me right in the face?" He sounded hurt. "I searched that office for 4 hours and couldn't find anything."

Sherlock smiled slightly. He found it amusing at times that no one noticed the things he did, thought often it annoyed him. The security guard's questioning expression begged an answer.

"The scuff marks on the floor, size 7 foot. A lot of the girls at this school have that size, but few dash about in high heels, much less rob the principal's office in them. So a girl who wears heels often, even to class. The robbery took place at precisely 1:30pm according to the alarm. Many girls have classes during this time, not many don't. So I asked around for a girl, size 7 foot, wears high heels to class, has no class at 1:30pm and it led to me to a single dorm, dorm 146."

The security guard tried his best not to look dumbfounded. He pinched his lips together and turned away, continuing his flight up the stairs. The Freshmen, who had apparently not payed attention to the entire explanation, stayed behind looking for girls to flirt with.

This was the first time Sherlock had been in the girl's dorm. He wasn't very social, and though he did have a select group of friends, he preferred the library or the small park outside the men's dorm. The security officer led him down the hall and finally halted in front of a door with the number 146. Sherlock knocked without hesitation.

"Come in." A annoyed sounding voice came from inside.

The security guard opened the door. Sherlock was speechless. There, stretched out on her bed in front of her laptop, her chocolate brown hair loose and beautiful, was the most intelligent female he had ever met. Irene Adler.

_Stupid stupid! Obvious! Why didn't I see it before?_

"Sherlock!" She spoke brightly, sitting up on her bed.

Sherlock remained speechless, so the security guard stepped in. "Maam, we have reason to believe that you robbed the principal's office a week ago, leaving with a large amount of cash and valuables."

Irene's eyes narrowed, and her gaze turned sharply to Sherlock. "And you believe this too?"

Sherlock's gaze softened. "Ree..."

The security guard pushed past him and grabbed Irene's wrist. "You'll probably get expelled for this missy. Stealing is not something we take lightly here."

He escorted Irene out, leaving Sherlock standing there, still at a loss for words. Before they reached the end of the hall, Irene faught the security guard's grip, turned around and shouted,

"You will pay for this Sherlock Holmes!"


	2. Chapter 1

_Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes._

_~Emily Dickinson_

CHAPTER 1

"SHERLOCK!"

"Yes?" Sherlock replied without even so much as glancing up. John's agitated tone suggested that he had called his name several times with no response. Sherlock glanced up from his book and saw a very annoyed John Watson at his desk, his glare burning.

"Have you heard a THING I've had to say to you?"

Sherlock smirked slightly. "So Sarah doesn't appreciate you anymore you say?"

John tried to hide his surprise. "No, it's not that. It's just..." John stood up from his desk and paced across the room, breaking eye contact. "We've lost our spark."

Sherlock stared at John emotionless. "Get her some flowers, take her out to eat..." Sherlock returned his attention to his book.

"You obviously don't know what it's like to have a girlfriend."

"Hmm, dull."

John held his gaze on Sherlock for a few seconds, trying to detect any sort of emotion in his blank expression. At times, he felt he knew his flat mate rather well, but it was days like this where he wished he could live with someone a little more...well...considerate. John turned towards the door just as a large crash came from down the hall.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John ran to 221C and found Mrs. Hudson kneeling on the floor, her blue dress stained with the liquid from the bucket she'd just dropped.

"Oh I'm fine dear, just my slippery hands. I just need a towel, that's all."

John sighed. Mrs. Hudson's finances had been a bit tight as of late. In light of a few unexpected doctors visits, she decided to start cleaning up 221C to sell, hoping to gain a new lodger.

"It's about gone now though!" She smiled, pointing at the places where mold used to be growing. "I hope to have it up by the end of the week!"

"Hear that Sherlock? We're going to have new neighbors!" John smirked inwardly, knowing Sherlock would be the opposite of thrilled.

"Oh goody. Should I bake a cake?"

John sensed Sherlock's disdain from the next room. He liked a quiet flat, and since John kept to himself or was out with Sarah most of the time, it gave Sherlock plenty of time to think. Peace and quiet. The last thing he wanted was some loudmouth next door disturbing his work.

John walked back down the hall and saw that Sherlock hadn't moved from his chair, the same book in his hand.

"Well, I'm gonna head out. Need anything?"

Sherlock shrugged. Assuming that meant no, John left Sherlock alone with his studies. John smirked, thinking back to their first case together. Sherlock wasn't kidding when he said he was married to his work.

It was his only obsession.

**Wow, 4 followers before the first Chapter! I love you guys 3**


	3. Chapter 2

_The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility._

_~John Keats_

"I'm very sorry. You know I'd let you stay if I could..."

Irene didn't bother to hear him finish. Turning on her heel, she walked away briskly, not stopping till she reached the elevator. The sound of her stilettos clacking against the tile floor of the office building drew attention to her, but that wasn't why people were staring. They had seen this coming for months. They wondered if the rumors were true about their boss and his petite brunette temp named Irene.

Once she reached the elevator, Irene sighed. Alone at last. She put her head in hands, wanting to weep. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Oh why did she have to be such a flirt?

At first, it was just to get hired. After all, as a 5.4 brunette with slender figure she had the look most male bosses wanted. So she would flirt, nothing more. Smile at him, comment on his tie, twist her long curly chocolate-colored hair around her finger. He would return her flirting and it become the fun dance of her job. But then, the gossip began. First they would say she was dating her boss, then snogging him, giving him oral under the desk. The horrendous things they would come up with! Sooner or later, some higher ups (or in some cases, his wife) would find out, and her boss would kick her out as soon as he could to cover his butt.

Why did she even bother to continue this cycle? She was far too clever for this, too clever to continue this act. Soon she would have another office job, and she'd mind her business. She'd do her work quietly and studiously, maybe even make some friends. She laughed at the thought. If not for jealousy of her looks, it was her intellect that made other women avoid her like the plague.

Irene walked out of the office building right onto the streets of the city. London. The city that took and took, but never gave. This city had taken her chance at a degree at a good school, her chances at several good jobs, and spoiled her perspective on men beyond repair.

Irene soon arrived at her apartment, only a short walk from her workplace, which had been her reason for choosing it. No reason now. She walked up the dark filthy stairway, blue paint chipping from the rails. Seeing her door in the distance, she noticed a note taped to it labeled "Final Notice."

Irene sighed. She had known from the moment she moved in that she couldn't afford this place, but the job seemed so great at first. It was in a posh part of town, and surely she'd be promoted within a few months. Now she found herself with no job, falling further in debt.

_Finding another job won't be that hard. Finding another apartment...bloody hell..._

She checked the listings, hoping something in her meager price range would pop out that wasn't so far out of the city. Suddenly, an ad caught her eye...

"2 room flat, shared kitchen. Neighbors are quiet and keep to themselves. Completely re-done, looking to rent out immediately. Contact: Mrs. Hudson"

Irene eyed the price. Eyebrows raised, she re-read the post. It almost seemed too good to be true. There had to be some sort of catch...

**To everyone reading this story, you all are amazing. Review if you want, I'd love to hear some feedback!**


	4. Chapter 3

_What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life._

_~Walt Whitman_

"Good morning."

John woke up and rubbed his eyes. He was at Sarah's house, in her bed, her beautiful face smiling at him from across the room. John sat up, embarrassed he had slept so long, but Sarah's flat was always so peaceful. No crazy experiments or hostility. John slipped his arms around Sarah's waist and kissed her.

"How'd I ever win a woman like you?"

Sarah blushed and turned away, her blue nighty swishing against her bare legs as she walked. "Breakfast is in the kitchen."

John sighed. Sarah was beautiful, but at times she certainly didn't think so. She was far too modest and hard to compliment. A beeping noise interrupted his thoughts.

"If that's Sherlock, tell him he can wait!" Sarah frowned.

John picked up his phone and found a text from Mrs. Hudson.

"Please John, come home. I have someone viewing 221C today and Sherlock is insistant up on continuing his rash experiments, on the kitchen table nonetheless! Maybe he'll listen to you."

John doubted it, but still grabbed his coat. "It was Mrs. Hudson. She has someone viewing the flat today and wants me to talk some sense into Sherlock."

"You know he won't listen."

John didn't have to look at her face to know she was upset. He looked up at her, trying to think of words to explain, but she wouldn't look at him. Sighing, John left Sarah's flat, promising himself he would call her later.

When John reached 221B, the first thing he noticed right off was the stench. Mrs. Hudson met him at the door, her auburn hair ruffled and her hands shaking. Obviously, she was stressed and somewhat angry. John marched up the stairs, and found the smell to be 10 times greater in the kitchen, where Sherlock was leaning over his experiment with some fascination.

"Sherlock, you better have a good explanation for this."

Sherlock placed his gloved hand on top of his experiment, holding it down. Then taking tweezers, he latched a part of the object and pulled hard.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

The piece of the object pulled free, and Sherlock held it between his tweezers, examining it with a smile. At once, John realized what the object was.

"Is that a hand, a HUMAN hand?"

Sherlock looked up. "What? Oh yes, of course it's a hand. I need the fingernails, very important. A man's life depends on it."

John began to feel sick. A hand, a severed human hand was stinking up the flat, and poor Mrs. Hudson was having someone view 221C in a matter of minutes. John glanced back at Sherlock, who now had a fragment of the fingernail under a microscope. To make matters worse, the whole kitchen was covered. Sherlock had lined the counters with plastic bags, where stains of blood and other substances lay. The table was covered with papers, multiple knives, and beakers of miscellaneous chemicals. Right then, John heard a knock at the door.

John ran down, wondering what on earth he would say. Faking a smile, he swung the door open and saw a small slender brunette woman in business attire. She looked at John, puzzled.

"Hi. Sorry, I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson. I'm here to look at the flat?"

"Oh yes, sorry. I'm John Watson. I live in 221B." John smiled and shook her hand. "Um Mrs. Hudson..." John realized he didn't know the woman's name. "Um sorry, what's your name."

"Sorry, Adler. Irene Adler."

"Irene Adler is here to look at the flat." Mrs. Hudson ran downstairs, trying fake calmness.

Sherlock stopped his work, stunned. He hadn't heard that name in 14 years. She couldn't be here, not now. Perhaps she'd forgotten him. Perhaps she no longer cared. For some reason, Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach.

At that moment Mrs. Hudson ran in the kitchen spray, spraying some air freshener and giving Sherlock a distressed glare. Sherlock, still somewhat stunned, put the hand in a plastic bag and put in the crisper drawer in the fridge. It didn't lessen the mess much, but it toned down some of the shock factor.

Finally, the three of them entered the room, and there she was. Just as petite and shockingly beautiful. She still had her intellect, he could tell even standing there she was studying him, just as he was studying her. Another obvious thing he could tell, is that she hadn't forgiven him. Her face showed as much anger now as it had 14 years ago in her dorm room.

"Sherlock! The mess you've made!" Mrs. Hudson went to grab some of the plastic spread across the counter tops, but decided not to touch it. "I'm sorry about this mess Ms. Adler..." Mrs. Hudson glared at Sherlock. "It won't happen again."

Irene smiled. "It's quite alright, this flat is lovely."

Mrs. Hudson sighed happily, looking a bit less frazzled now. "Oh and I know you've met John, but this is his colleague Sherlock Holmes. He.."

"We've met." Irene glared at Sherlock, her eyes burning.

"I'll take this flat." Irene turned to Mrs. Hudson, who almost cried for joy in reply. Irene glared back at Sherlock briefly before turning her gaze to John. "It was nice meeting you John Watson."

"Nice meeting you too, maam."

Irene turned on her heels to leave. Sherlock caught her arm. "Irene..."

Her cold green eyes met his again. He could feel her anger. "You know all those year ago. You know I was only..."

Irene swung hard, the skin of her palm stinging his cheek. Sherlock looked back at her, shocked. Irene was smiling shrewdly.

"I told you once you would pay Sherlock Holmes. Believe me, you haven't even begun to pay."

**Thanks so much for your feedback guys! Trying to keep up a chapter a day till school starts**


	5. Chapter 4

_A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green._

_~Francis Bacon_

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. Of all the people to have as a neighbor.

Irene continued walking briskly, her stilettos starting to blister her feet. She had run out of money for a cabbie, so she was walking to her third and final interview of the day. The first two had gone fine, and if all went well, she'd have a job by next week. She was very good at playing the likable friendly attentive woman. No one could see past her visage, no one except him. But now with him back in her life, she had her chance. Her chance to make him feel some of the same pain she'd felt in that dorm room. Betrayal.

"You don't need to stare. It's not that noticable."

John couldn't help it. The place on Sherlock's face when Irene had slapped him now sported a large purple bruise, making it look as though Sherlock had been in a bar fight the night before. On top of this, Sherlock's eyes were dark and sunken in, like he'd had trouble sleeping.

John wanted to know what happened between him and this girl, but it seemed whenever he opened his mouth, Sherlock glared at him like he knew what he was about to ask, so John refrained.

John finally resolved to go out. It was a bit nippy, but mild enough to go without a jacket. John walked down the street, thinking of Sarah. He still hadn't called her, and if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid to. She always felt second best, less important than his work with Sherlock. John rubbed his temples. She was important, so important. He wanted her to be first but, things were complicated. Things were always complicated with Sherlock Holmes.

Still walking aimlessly, he realized it wouldn't be much further to walk down to her flat now. He stopped in front of a shop window, hesitating on what to do next. Glancing around, John saw a older couple on a bench across the way, cuddling like young lovers.

_Isn't that what I want for Sarah and I?_

John walked on smiling, finally resolved on what he was going to do.

Irene arrived at the police section, walking a bit slower than before. By now, her heels were definitely starting to hurt, but she wasn't discouraged. Her plan was going into motion. She entered the glass door and saw a woman, very pretty with black curly hair.

"Um hello. Who can I speak to here about Sherlock Holmes?"

The woman looked up at her, rolling her eyes. She then stood up, and beckoned Irene to follow her down the hall.

"Lestrade! Someone's here about the freak!"

_Did he tell you he loved you?_

_Yes. No. Never absolutely. It was everyday implied but never declared._

Sarah dug into her Phish Food ice cream, feeling all the more pathetic. Whenever John left her like this, she cried. She never told him, why should he know? Sherlock had him on leash, having him leave her at a moment's notice. And he would always leave, he was always first priority.

So here she sat, watching Sense and Sensibility and eating ice cream. It didn't bother her, there was no one she needed to impress right now. Saturday afternoon, all alone in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and her boyfriend was out doing who knows what with his colleague.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Sarah paused the movie and headed for the door, checking first in a mirror to see if her mouth was surrounded by a ring of chocolate. She opened the door and was surprised to see John there, holding a bouquet of red roses.

Sarah stood there, mouth open. "John! What is this for? My birthday is next month!"

"I know it is. I guess I...wanted to try...and make it up to you."

Sarah stared at him, curious to what he would say next.

"I'm sorry about this morning, I shouldn't have just left like that, not even saying goodbye. And I know, I know I'm not the best boyfriend. And I guess I know that you deserve so much more..." John's eyes started to well up. "And all I can say is, that from now on, I'm going to try to be there for you. I can't promise I'll never leave but...I want to. I want to stay with you because..." He paused, breaking into a smile. "Sarah, my heart is, and always will be, yours."

Sarah laughed, tears following down her cheeks. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, not caring who was watching. Suddenly, pulling away, she looked him questioningly. "How did you know I was watching that movie?"

John smiled. "I heard it from outside your door."

Sarah laughed, kissing him again, and leading him inside her flat.

"Lestrade! How nice to see you again! A new case I take it?"

Lestrade smiled at Mrs. Hudson, trying to push the worry to the back of his mind. Sherlock surely wouldn't take this news well, but who else could deliver it then him? He wouldn't even believe this news if another officer delivered it, thinking they were playing a joke on him. Still, Ms. Adler story made not hold as much truth as the other officers thought, so he still had time to change his mind.

Lestrade walked up the stairs to find Sherlock on his laptop. Sherlock didn't even look up as he entered but he knew he sensed his presence.

"You need me?" Sherlock said, continuing to type.

Lestrade sighed, running his hand through his hair. The bruise on Sherlock's face was prominent, only confirming Ms. Adler's story of Sherlock Holmes having a late night row in a bar. Sherlock sensed his distress and stopped typing. "You REALLY need me."

Lestrade decided just to spit it out. "No, quite the contrary Holmes." Sherlock looked surprised, and stood up to face him. "Crime rate down in London these days?"

"No, crime rate is up." Lestrade began to pace, afraid to continue eye contact. "Where'd you get that bruise Holmes?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"And the bags under your eyes?"

"Still don't want to talk about it."

"I think you need a break Holmes." Lestrade stopped pacing, looking back at Holmes. "In fact, a lot of us at the station agree. We've decided to give you some time off."

"I don't need time off. There could be lives at stake here!"

"You think the police can't handle their own jobs? We'll get along fine without you." Lestrade took a deep breath. He had never yelled at Sherlock, he had never dared to. But this time, he was out of line. Lestrade's face softened. He walked towards Sherlock, and put his hand on his shoulder. "Two months off, then you're back." Lestrade pat him on the back, then exited briskly, not wanting to face Sherlock again.

Sherlock sunk into his chair, still somewhat shocked. Just yesterday Lestrade had emailed him about a case of great interest, now he was expected to just sit around and wait? Sherlock didn't even have to wonder how it had happened. Ree. The sweet intelligent girl had turned into a shrewd vengeful woman. And the worst part was, she had chosen the perfect form of revenge. Separating Sherlock from his one and only passion.

**Thank you so much to all my readers, your reviews make me super happy. School for me starts early September but I'll try and keep up on this (if it's not completed by then)**


	6. Chapter 5

_I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow._

_~Edgar Allen Poe_

"Lestrade! Another phone call!"

Lestrade looked up from the case file. Though he had over looked it hundreds of times by now, he still struggled to make sense of the details. This was a murderer unlike they had ever seen. Sally Donavon tapped her foot, holding the phone in her hand. He took it from her, hoping it would be some information on the case.

"Lestrade..."

"Um hello this is the Brixton Tattoo Parlor. We were just calling to confirm your piercing appointment."

Lestrade felt annoyance growing. "I made no appointment."

"Well, um, we're sorry about that sir. Have a good day sir."

Lestrade hung up the phone, hard. Sherlock was bored, so bored he been sending him all sorts of stunts like this. Lestrade looked back at the case file. Three people missing and assumed dead, the same trademark items left at every crime scene. He looked at the pictures, wincing. The scenes definitely left a lot of blood, which led the police to believe these were indeed murderers.

Lestrade glanced back at the phone, knowing he only had to call and Sherlock would be on his way. Surely, he would know what they were missing. He thought back to the last time he saw Sherlock, his face bruised and dark from lack of sleep. Lestrade turned back to the case file. No, they could do this one without Sherlock Holmes.

"And if you shoot up my wall again, I'll start charging you double for rent!" Mrs. Hudson slammed the door, stomping down the stairs angrily.

Sherlock smirked, looking at the wall filled with bullet holes. John regarded this as pointless, but it was one of the few things that amused him temporarily. He needed something to fill the void.

There was no point, no point his experiments now. All his work was for cases. What was the point of conducting an experiment with nothing to achieve? Sherlock laid down on the couch, still in his night clothes. What was the point of life? It was so dull. Is this how normal people got along, just going day to day, watching some telly, nothing more? Sherlock closed his eyes groaning, he couldn't bear this anymore.

He heard voices in the kitchen and knew it must be John and Irene talking. Sherlock opened his eyes and saw she was in only a sports bra and shorts.

"Put some clothes on."

Irene glared. "I don't think that's really any of your business."

"It's my business when you're in my kitchen."

"It's my kitchen as well as yours." Irene groaned, folding her arms across her chest in some amount of uncharacteristic modesty. Suddenly, her emotion changed, and just for a second, she didn't look angry. She looked, actually, very sad. She left the kitchen quickly, not even bothering to say any word of goodbye to John.

"Sherlock, what was that? What do you have against this woman?"

Sherlock replied in a groan, rolling over on the couch. John sat down in the chair beside the couch, not taking no for an answer. Ever since he had gotten his relationship with Sarah back on track, he seemed more eager to talk to Sherlock about his problems. Sherlock grabbed a pillow and put it on his head, not wanting to talk to John. "Is she...an ex-girlfriend?"

"No."

John sat in silence for a while. Surely he couldn't guess what had happened. "Did she love you?"

Sherlock laughed at the thought. Ree was far too smart to show any interest in a man like him. She had always strutted about the campus, boys following her panting like dogs. But she was too smart to pay them any mind. In fact, he couldn't picture Ree loving anyone. She was far too complicated.

Sherlock turned over, as though he had a change of heart. "I accused her of stealing, and got her kicked out of college."

John didn't look surprised, nodding slightly. "That is...a good reason to hit someone."

Sherlock glared at him. "I didn't know it was her until I reached her dorm room with the campus police."

John winced. So they were friends then, Sherlock and Irene. Friends broken by betrayal. "Did she do it?"

Sherlock was silent. This was the question that haunted him. All the facts pointed to it, but it haunted him for months after. What if he was wrong? It was the only time he could ever remember doubting his intellect.

"So, she talked to Lestrade and told him to no longer consult you?"

Sherlock laughed. "You underestimate how clever she is, John. She didn't just ask, she planned. She planned it all, from the bruise to me not sleeping..." Sherlock chuckled in self-pity. "She is the smartest woman I have ever incountered."

John was a bit stunned. Sherlock had never regarded anyone that highly, at least to his knowledge. Knowing Sherlock, he would find a way around this "break" Lestrade was putting on him and be back on this so called "case of interest" soon. But he worried about Irene. He couldn't help but feel that if she was as clever as Sherlock said, that there was more to her than meets the eye.

**Hey still love you guys and I love reading the reviews. For the record, I made a chart the other day of how this story is going to end and it looked like freakin Inception. So a forewarning, it's about to get a lot more complicated, but it'll be okay! haha**


	7. Chapter 6

_Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?_

_~William Blake_

"What the hell..."

Lestrade had seen many murder scenes, but none like this. When he got the call there had been a fourth in this series of assumed killings, he had hoped this would be a chance at some lead. A chance at finding some evidence. But as the three scenes before it, this scene was no different.

He had seen the photographs and he knew the murderer's trademark, but it was different in person. The image was unsettling. The floor was always streaked with blood, as though the murderer had purposely spread it about the room. In the middle of the room, lay a piece of the body. The past body parts had been a foot, an elbow, and a head. Now, what appeared to be the bone of a shoulder blade lay in the middle of the floor. Lestrade forced himself to look away. It was like someone was he was in the middle of a horror film. Lestrade turned to Sally Donavon.

"Got the credentials?"

Sally held up a blood-covered wallet in a plastic bag. "Got em."

This was sick. The murderer left the credentials every time, like he was playing with them. Lestrade began to feel angry. Angry that people were dying, and there was nothing he or his team could do.

_Signed, yours, John_

John smiled down at the paper. Ever since Sarah and he had made up, things had never been better. Sherlock had no cases to steal his attention away, and they began investing more and more into each other. John licked the envelopes and sealed it with a stamp. Now they began writing love letters, a new idea he rather liked. It made his passion for her grow even more, if that was possible.

"Stop."

John turned and saw Sherlock still lying on his back on that old couch. Sherlock couldn't stand John being so happy while he was stuck here being miserable. With him focusing on Sarah all the time, he had no one else to talk with, and Mrs. Hudson had promised to return his skull when he repaired the wall.

John snatched up his envelope and left, leaving Sherlock alone in the flat, alone with his thoughts. Sherlock finally got up, deciding he would fix the wall, hoping Mrs. Hudson would return his skull quite promptly. He grabbed the caulking and paint and slipped on a pair of jeans, not bothering to put a shirt on. There was no one there to oppose his slight lack of modesty.

_There are murders about and I'm fixing a bloody wall..._

Sherlock tried not to think about it, but his mind was restless. He groaned, wanting to slam his fists into the wall he was attempting to fix. In an attempt to release his anger, he looked at the nearest stack of books and kicked it hard. The stack toppled over with a crash. Sherlock sighed, satisfied. He turned to continue the wall and immediately realized he wasn't alone.

Irene stood in the kitchen, giving him a look like one would give a child throwing a tantrum. She must have just returned from work, judging from her business clothing. Sherlock glanced away quickly, trying to ignore her.

Irene wouldn't give up though. "So this is how its always going to be Sherlock? Neighbors who don't speak a word to each other?"

"You took away my work."

"You ruined my chance at an education!"

"But you were guilty weren't you?" Sherlock strode towards her. "All the facts pointed to you. How could you possibly think you wouldn't get caught?" He was only inches from her now, her cold eyes boring into him.

Irene, to his surprise, smiled. "But you missed something didn't you?"

Sherlock backed up slightly. "What? What did I miss?"

Irene laughed cynically. "Clubs." Her eyes darted around, then met his again. "The Psychology club met everyday at 1:00, and didn't end till 2:00."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "But the shoes..."

Irene's smile began to fade. "We wore the same size. Marissa and I. I never thought..."

Sherlock pulled her into an embrace. It was rather uncharacteristic of him, but in this instance, what else could he do? He had nothing he could say or do to fix what he had done. Irene held him close, his sweaty body against her blazer.

_He was sorry._

She felt wounds that had cut deep for years finally beginning to heal. Maybe one day, they could be friends once again...

**Your reviews still make me ridiculously happy, thank you! I probably won't post a chapter tomorrow but Friday I'll definitely put one up. Thanks again!**


	8. Chapter 7

_When people care for you and cry for you, they can straighten out your soul._

_~Langston Hughes_

"Irene!"

Irene broke out her thoughts. She was still in the coffee shop, the familiar barista looking at her with a smile. He printed out her receipt and handed it to her. "Here's your usual. How's the new job going?"

Irene shrugged. Her new job, despite her best efforts, was similar to others she had before it. "It's good."

The barista frowned, seeing through her cheerful disposition. "About the same?"

Irene frowned and nodded, almost glad she had someone to talk to. Not very many people went to the same coffee shop every morning 9 months in a row, and this particular barista and she had become somewhat awkward friends. Despite the awkwardness, she found herself grateful.

"Well I'm off. Tomorrow morning, same time?"

The barista smirked. "Same time."

Irene began to exit, but suddenly remembered and ran back. "I didn't pay you!"

The barista laughed. "A gift for a friend."

Irene found herself blushing. "Thank you."

The barista chuckled and shook his head. "Not me, but he told me to say that."

Irene looked puzzled as she exited, her red heels clacking against the pavement.

_I wonder..._

"We've got a lead!"

Lestrade muttered a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. Finally, a link between these ridiculous murders. Three were managers, all of medium sized offices throughout London, but the fourth was simply a office worker. It all seemed random.

"Who's the link?"

"A lady. She worked at all four of the offices."

"The motive?"

"She was fired, from all of them. Abruptly, without given reason."

Lestrade frowned. It wasn't much of a motive but it was all they had. They could at least talk to her.

"John! Come quickly! It's important!"

John closed the ring box. He had just gotten it today, a pure golden band with a deep red stone. He knew Sarah would love it. He shoved the ring in the drawer of his dresser and ran downstairs. To his surprise, he found Sherlock over a boiling pot, with a smaller pot beside it. He stirred the smaller pot, and brought the spoon to his lips, grimacing.

"Well that's bloody awful. John, is this how sauce is supposed to taste?"

John pushed the spoon aside and smelled it. He coughed loudly. He was unsure of what spices Sherlock had added. In fact, he was unsure if he had added tomatoes at all.

"Sherlock...are you trying to make dinner?"

"A kind gesture, nothing more."

John smelled the sauce again. "I think I'll run to the store and get us some sauce."

A knock came at the door. Sherlock sighed, removing his oven mits. John stood back, finding this whole scene rather comical. To both of their surprise, he found Lestrade at the door.

"Sherlock, we need to talk. It's about your neighbor, Irene Adler."

**I AM SO SO SORRY! I haven't posted a chapter in forever. Truth is, work and life has been insane but I swear I'm not giving up on this story! Thanks again to all the people still reading, I love you all.**

**Also I'm heading to Canada this weekend so no internet so I'm posting a few chapters in the next couple days :)**


	9. Chapter 8

_To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved._

_~ George MacDonald_

"You know the freak?"

Irene didn't have to ask to know she was referring to Sherlock. Actually, she didn't really know Sherlock at all, at least not any more, especially not now. She look around the police station, officers eyeing her as they walked past. This was where associating with Sherlock always got her, on the other side of the law.

"If you'd follow me maam..."

Irene stood up and followed the man into an office labeled "Inspector Lestrade." To her surpise, Sherlock stood in the office with John, looking quite shocked. Her eyes narrowed.

"What is this about?"

A silver-haired officer, apparently Inspector Lestrade, motioned for her to sit down. "Maam, do you recognize any of these men?"

Irene looked at the pictures. One was Mr. Hooper, a man she had worked for over a year ago. He had fired her because his wife thought Irene was his mistress. The other two, Mr. Smith and Mr. Dubois, had similar stories, except theirs involved girlfriends and drinking. The fourth one, however, surprised her. It was none other than Timothy Rockwell, the man who had made her life a living hell at her last job. Irene felt fear growing in her stomach, wondering what this had to do with her.

"Yes I know them."

"They're all dead."

Irene gasped. All of them, dead? A horrifying thought struck her.

_They think I did it._

Lestrade straightened. "Anything you can tell us, anything at all..."

"I didn't kill them if that's what you're asking."

"We've been through this case a hundred times and the only thing these men have in common is you."

Sherlock cleared his throat. Lestrade shot him a look, as if he knew what Sherlock was thinking.

Irene realized that unless they found another suspect, they would do everything they could to convict her. Her hands began to shake. She needed a way out, now. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She looked over at Sherlock and was surprised by the hint of compassion in his eyes. "You believe this?"

Suddenly, Sherlock found himself back in Irene's dorm room. It was happening all over again. Her green eyes sent the same message they did 14 years ago.

Help.

Sherlock cleared his throat again. "Of course not. Having been your neighbor for the past month, I've seen nothing that would cause me to believe you're capable of murder."

Lestrade stood up, staring at Sherlock in disbelief. He rarely defended anyone, he didn't have friends. Who was this woman?

"May I go now?" Irene tried to hide the look of panic she still felt.

Lestrade sighed. "If you remember anything, anything at all, please call the station."

Irene nodded and walked out without a word of goodbye, eager to escape.

John turned to Sherlock, who hadn't moved a muscle since Irene left the room. "Not capable of murder? Sherlock, you've barely spoken to the woman! She could be running a slaughter house from her flat for all you know!"

Sherlock smirked. "Now John, I thought you wanted me to be nicer?" Satisfied, Sherlock exited.

John closed his eyes, groaning. "Damn it."


	10. Chapter 9

_Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination._

_~ e.e. cummings_

"Must say I'm surprised Sherlock..."

Mrs. Hudson nodded in approval at the new redone wall. Sherlock lay on couch, hands pressed together, staring at the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson shrugged, setting the skull on the mantle before exiting the flat.

Sherlock stared the ceiling. He couldn't make sense of himself lately.

Before, it had been easy. It had been simple to function solely in logic, ignoring any kind of friendship or emotional attachment. But then this woman, this intelligent beautiful woman from his past comes in and begins to unknowingly break down his walls, brick by brick. It made him actually miss it. Miss the friendships he had in school. Miss the opportunities he'd put aside ever since then.

Even since his relationship with Irene went sour.

"Sherlock!"

John broke his thoughts. Ah John, his only steadfast companion. John was the exception. He wouldn't leave, no matter how ignorant of emotion he was.

"The email? The email from Lestrade?" John looked puzzled, and rightly so. He never had to remind Sherlock to check his email.

Sherlock hopped over the coffee table to his laptop. He smirked at the computer screen. Sure enough, Lestrade wanted him back on the case.

"So...did Irene do it?"

The words cut into Sherlock so deep he almost lashed out. He cleared his throat. "I doubt it. Though it looks like someone wants it to look like she did..."

"But why?"

Sherlock frowned. Irene did have motive, but not much. You don't murder your boss just because he fired you. You'd get angry, but someone that angry would have to psychotic. "Haven't the faintest. In the mean time we can focus on what we do know."

John's look turned blank. "Which is?"

Sherlock ignored him. "The body parts at the scene, that is a signature trait of Jarvis, a very well known hitman."

"Then...why have I never heard of him?"

"Because you're an idiot."

John glared at Sherlock. Sherlock laughed.

"No no, don't take offense almost everyone is."

John found himself smiling. Sherlock had no edge to his voice, he was actually, for once, just joking around.

But he couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. He didn't trust this woman completely, and Sherlock was becoming more and more open to her.

Irene stared at her laptop.

The pictures of the four men were on the screen, staring at her. She could feel her hands trembling.

She closed the laptop suddenly, determined not to think about it. But those men still haunted her dreams, shouting threats of hatred.


	11. Chapter 10

_Love is like a virus. It can happen to anybody at any time._

_~Maya Angelou_

"Sherlock look at this..."

Sherlock glanced over at the paperwork John was holding, knowing he was only trying to distract himself from the gruesome scene that surrounded them. The newly severed thumb lay on the cement, the floor heavily streaked with blood.

"I need some air." John exited quickly, clearly disgusted by the whole scene.

Lestrade paced the scene, feeling slightly more at ease. He felt now with Sherlock on the case, there would be no more murders. This would be just like "A Study in Pink," a mistake had been made, he was sure of it. "Thoughts? Theories? Tell me what you know."

Sherlock surveyed the scene again, not looking the least bit perplexed. "The victim was male, probably in his late 20's, slightly athletic judging by the callouses on his severed thumb. There's dirt under his nail, but it isn't dirt, it's coffee. So a barista then, but where? Check online missing persons fitting that description, it shouldn't be hard to track down."

Lestrade nodded to Anderson, who immediately got on his laptop, looking rather disgusted. Moments later, his face formed into a smile. "Ms. Adler frequents this particular coffee house."

Sherlock turned his head, perhaps too quickly, at the mention of her name. "And how would you know that, Anderson?"

"Receipts. Credit cards. We're keeping a close eye of her." Anderson smiled sickly, as if he knew how uncomfortable it made him.

"That means nothing. That coffee shop is in Central London, hundreds of people probably frequent it!"

Lestrade cut it. "Sherlock, you must understand, we have nothing else to go on!"

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Was the Irene he knew capable of murder? No, not in the slightest. But could she have changed? Yes it was probable, but she hadn't appeared to have. She had grown up, but there was nothing sinister. And Jarvis, what about Jarvis? Would a single woman really have the means to track down a hitman from the underworld? Sherlock rolled up his sleeve, slapping a forth nicotene patch on his arm. Whatever the outcome was, he could not get any personal feelings or convictions involved.

"You're back early."

Sherlock was surprised to see Irene in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. It was Friday, but he guessed she had gotten off early.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Please." Sherlock sat down in the chair by the window, picking up his book. It wouldn't be hard to get this woman out of his head. She was just an acquaintance, one of many.

"They still think I did it, don't they?"

Sherlock looked up, and saw Irene's tired face. Her eyes were very dark and sunken in. Still, he wouldn't lie. "Yes, they do."

Irene smiled sadly. "I knew the barista. We were friends, he was nice."

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly. He had never known how to react in such situations. "I'm...very sorry."

There was very little emotion in his voice, but it still caught Irene by surprise. "You are?"

He cleared his throat again. "Indeed."

Irene quietly groaned and walked back towards the kitchen. Sherlock was never very good at being social, but he seemed remarkably sealed off. She bit her lip, wondering if she should say anything more.

"I'll get the dishes."

Irene jumped a little. Sherlock was beside her now, his coat left on the chair. He took the mug from her hand, rolled up the sleeves of his purple dress shirt, and began to wash the mugs. Irene's face was wrinkled in confusion. First he addresses her coldly, then does the dishes?

Sherlock felt her watching him, and turned around. "You look puzzled."

"Is this your twisted way of sucking up to me?"

"That's absurd. What on earth do you mean?" Sherlock set the mug down.

"Buying me coffee, doing the dishes, but when it comes to communication you're hopeless!"

"I didn't buy you coffee!"

Irene flushed for a moment with embarrassment. Of course he hadn't, why would he? She met his hard blue gaze. "It was 14 years ago Sherlock."

"It wasn't just "14 years ago" last time you brought it up."

She winced inwardly. "I know, and I'm sorry. But you just need to know, don't try to "make it up to me." If you don't want to speak to me, I understand." She immediately regretted it as soon as she said it.

The words hit him painfully, like he had been shot in the stomach. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "No..." was all he could make out. It was as though he had lost control of his mind and his senses.

Irene pulled away. "Why?"

"I DON'T KNOW! Bloody hell woman, what will it take for you to just accept me?"

Irene stared at him. This was the Sherlock she knew, not cut off from all emotions. Tears in his eyes, broken from his past. She couldn't hate him, how could she? She looked into those blue eyes of his and saw her best friend, not her greatest enemy.

She touched her hand to his face, wet with tears. She pitied him, so much knowing she had been a part of this pain and this dreadful misunderstanding. She threw her arms around his waist, and he held her close.

"Just chose this, please." She held him tighter. "I miss you, more than you know."

**Still keeping up on this, sorry for the break! Reviews make me happy and stuffz. **


	12. Chapter 11

_A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal._

_~ Oscar Wilde_

"What I'm trying to say is...Sarah, will you marry me?"

Sarah could hardly believe what was happening. Here was John Watson, the man of her dreams, before her on one knee in the middle of the restaurant, asking her to marry him. Words were at a loss.

"But...what about Sherlock?" Sarah couldn't keep from asking.

John looked puzzled. "What about Sherlock? We would live together, as husband and wife. You can't possibly believe I could remain at Baker Street."

Sarah sighed. "No, of course not. I just mean, will he come first? I mean, before me..."

John stood up, and held her face in his hands. Her eyes held back tears and unspoken worry. "Never again." He slid the ringer on her finger, kissing her hand.

"Well that freak was completely useless."

Lestrade looked up from his desk at Sally Donovan in surprise. "He gave us the only lead we have!" He rolled his eyes in annoyance and looked back at his laptop. "You've looked up Jarvis?"

Sally nearly laughed. "Jarvis is dead, has been for several months. Found in Surrey, shot in the head. A perfect dental match."

Lestrade met her gaze, shocked. "Months dead?"

"Yes, months."

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his temples. This case was getting less and less clear.

_I miss you...more than you know._

Sherlock put aside his book, pondering. Reading people had always come easy to him, but Irene was complex. She was like Homer in a series of children's picture books. He could stare into her eyes and never tell what she was thinking. It bothered him. Still, he couldn't write her off. He found himself drawn to her slowly, longing to be with her. Just to sit in the same room with her, knowing she was okay.

"We need to talk." He looked up to see her sitting there. He checked his watch. Five thirty pm, she was home from work.

"You know I regard you highly Irene, but you need not barge into my flat every time you'd like to talk."

She smirked. "You never minded before."

Sherlock felt some color rise in his neck, and returned his attention to his book.

Irene realized his bit of discomfort and nearly laughed. She began to pace around his chair, savoring his discomfort.

"Is there something you wanted to say?" He didn't even look up.

"Yes." She looked down at him. "Let's get dinner."

Sherlock looked up at her curiously. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

She pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe, if you play your cards right." She leaned down towards his face.

He suddenly remembered it again. She missed him, more than perhaps he could fathom, and this flirting was a front. He had seen her, broken down, and that was the woman he wanted to spend time with. He put down his book and stared into her eyes. "I miss you." The words tasted bitter and made no sense to his mind, but satisfied him nonetheless.

Her smile turned from flirtatious to sincere. "I miss you too."

She straightened suddenly and headed for the door. "Grab your coat."

He smirked, seeing the college girl she was, not the hardened woman she pretended to be.

**I know this chapter is short, but I hope you still like it!**


	13. Chapter 12

_A man is a method, a progressive arrangement; a selecting principle, gathering his like to him; wherever he goes._

_~Ralph Waldo Emerson_

"Sherlock, hello...no! Ugh...let's see...Sherlock, I'm engaged. No no! Bloody hell..."

John paced back and forth outside the flat, trying get his words together. There was no easy way to tell him this, but it was happening. He and Sarah were to be married in three months time, and he would be leaving Baker Street indefinitely. Sherlock wouldn't like the news, and he certainly wouldn't put up a polite front if he found himself agitated by it. Still, there was no way out of it. This was his life and his decision.

Sherlock looked out the window at his pacing friend and knew already what had happened. They were engaged. Sherlock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This flat, without John, these 4 walls would close in on him. Still, it was bound to happen at some point, why not now? Sherlock buried his face in his book, trying to put aside the information he wished he didn't know.

At last, he heard John's footsteps coming up the stairs. He stopped in front of Sherlock's chair, his eyes darting nervously about the room.

"Yes John?" John looked into Sherlock's face. He looked sad, no, he looked downright depressed. John sighed. "You already know?"

Sherlock nodded and returned to his book.

"I'll be leaving Baker Street in three months time."

Sherlock simply nodded again, his face devoid of any emotion. "Of course."

"I'd like you Sherlock...if you don't mind, to be my best man."

Again, he nodded.

John looked at him sympathetically. He was hurting, he felt it. Lately, Sherlock's emotions had been becoming more well known, as if he could not find a balance. He exited, feeling uncomfortable for standing there so long.

Once John was out of sight, Sherlock slammed his book down on the table. He pressed his fingertips together, fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall. As he allowed the sadness to fill him, his vision began to blur. Sherlock wiped his eyes, disgusted with his own feelings.

_I should feel nothing. What's happening to me?_

...

_Sarah and I are engaged. Please talk to Sherlock. - JW_

Irene sighed, leaning her face against the cab window. After dinner last week, she was beginning to understand Sherlock, the ways he was different and the ways he was completely the same. It was clear that he would not take this information well.

Throwing her purse on the floor, she started up the stairway. As she opened the door, she saw him, still sitting in that chair. Tears rolled freely down his face, but his mouth made no sound. He just stared at the wall, aimlessly.

Irene ran to his side. "Sherlock. Sherlock, it's okay..." She began to wipe his tears.

Sherlock croaked out the words. "I'm alone. I took him for granted, now I'm all alone."

Irene through her arms around him, filled with compassion. "You're not alone! You've got your work, you've got your friends..."

_You've got me._

Sherlock almost smirked. "What friends?"

Irene smiled sadly and pulled him to his feet. "Listen, John's getting married, yes. But just trust me when I say that things will be alright, just different."

Sherlock looked down at her, putting his hand on the side of her face. "I've hurt people, and now I can't keep myself from hurting."

"Maybe it's time to feel joy again Sherlock." She grabbed his face and kissed him, running her hand through his thick black hair.

Sherlock pulled away, shocked. Immediately, Irene felt ashamed.

"Forgive me." She began to walk away, her face red.

"No Ree, wait..." Her heart stopped when he called her Ree. It felt like a name from their past life.

"I feel drawn to you, and for once, I cannot explain. I don't mean to offend, I'm really just processing."

Irene smiled. "You must process everything?"

Sherlock shut his eyes. He felt like he might explode. The inner battle between what he felt and the comfortable logic he had always known was growing violent.

He had a choice to make, and either choice made him feel like he was defying part of himself.

He took her in his arms, kissing her forehead. "I don't know. For once, I really don't know."

**Again, it's a bit short but LOTS OF THINGS HAPPEN. So yeah, reviews make me happy! Feel free to message me with any questions/criticisms/etc.**


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